Where I Needed
by thosedarndursleys
Summary: Sometimes extraordinary experiences can redefine the mundane. Arthur Weasley knows this better than anyone.


Where I Needed

" _I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I've ended up where I needed to be."_

— _Douglas Adams_

Arthur Weasley hadn't always had a fascination with Muggle items. In fact, as a young boy, his awareness of their world had been minimal at best. It was a specific incident that spurred his love of the foreign, and that incident took place on December 18, 1963.

Thirteen-year-old Arthur Weasley was following his mother through Diagon Alley, entering and exiting every shop on the strip. He tried to mask his irritation at entering yet another over-heated store but had little luck. The noon-day sun glared through the shop window, piercing his gaze and calling to him for companionship. While his mother meandered to the back shelves, Arthur stayed at the window, studying the crowds and longing for the fresh air.

Witches and wizards of all figures and forms walked the alley. An old man with orange robes perused the display of the owl emporium. A child jumped over the cobblestone walkway in some form of sport. A young woman, fresh out of Hogwarts by the looks of it, struggled to carry an armful of bags down the street. Arthur's eyes lingered. She was beautiful—dark curls caressed her back and accented the tan skin of her face and neck. Chocolate eyes hid below heavy lashes. Her long fingers clutched at the bag handles, and as Arthur studied the whitened knuckles, he felt his temper spike.

There, in broad daylight, just inches away from those feminine, struggling hands, was a rougher set of knuckles. It was reaching into the topmost bag and pulling out a wrapped package. Arthur couldn't tell what was in the wrapping, but it was obvious that it didn't belong to the rough-handed fellow, and as he turned to disappear into the crowd, Arthur rushed out the door to follow him.

He opened his mouth to call out to the strange man, to challenge his misguided temerity right there, but promptly closed it. If there was one thing he had learned in his Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons, it was not to cause a panic in the middle of a crowd, and in Arthur's thirteen-year-old mind, that's exactly what his allegations would provoke.

So he chased after the man, pushing through groups of students and families and craning his neck upward to keep his gaze on target. The thief was nearly five metres ahead of him and Arthur struggled to keep up. He ran past store displays and around bends in the path. He followed through the Leaky Cauldron, but couldn't gain any distance. By the time Arthur Weasley burst through the threshold and stood on the stoop of Muggle London, the man was nowhere to be seen. His eyes raked the crowd around him and, after seeing a familiar, rugged head of hair, he took off running once more.

Arthur lost track of the distance he ran while trying to catch the thief, but it never occurred to him to turn back. He had already committed to his mission and he was going to see it through.

He skidded to a stop at the banks of the Thames. The stranger had disappeared again, this time without a trace.

Arthur couldn't explain it. One moment the man had been there; the next, he was gone. There had been no crack of apparition, no fireplace to floo in. He was just gone, and Arthur had only seen that type of magic in one place.

Platform 9 3/4.

But in Muggle London?

He reached his hand out to the air in front of him. Nothing changed. There was no invisible barrier or threshold. It was as plain as the air he breathed.

Arthur sighed and kicked the ground in front of him.

 _Damn it. Now Mum's gonna be mad and I didn't even catch the guy._

The sunlight glinting off of the water's surface caught his gaze.

 _Well, if I'm already in trouble, I might as well enjoy the view._

He took a step forward to get nearer to the Thames.

Or, at least, he tried.

Rather than hitting the ground, his foot continued to fall. It tumbled through the road, bringing Arthur's entire body with it. As he fell, Arthur watched the surface ripple in resistance to his body. He turned his head back just in time to watch the currents shimmer and fade.

 _Definitely not like Platform 9 3/4._

Then he slammed to a stop.

His back collided with something soft, but the impact took the breath from his lungs. He gasped for air for a few moments before pushing himself up with a groan. What he saw did nothing to help his respiratory system.

He was surrounded by little lights which decorated the ceiling, walls, and even the floor. They weren't flames from candles or even charms from wands. They were encased by glass, and staring at them caused Arthur's eyes to burn.

He moved his gaze to a photograph that was hung on a post in the middle of the room. A light shone from within it, illuminating the moving picture. It was different from the paintings and photographs in Arthur's own home. They didn't acknowledge his presence or repeat on a loop. The picture was carrying out a scene, tiny voices sounding from the frame. He stood to his feet and drew closer to it, allowing his ears to adjust to the sounds. The people, who were dressed as Muggles, had left the scene. Arthur now watched as a large, black bird came soaring toward him from within the frame.

It grew closer, it's glowing, red eyes fixated on him, its beak and talons sharper than he had ever seen. It got nearer and nearer, releasing a sharp cry as it did so. Arthur stumbled back as it grew, the bird so realistic that, for a moment, he believed it might escape the photograph, no matter how ridiculous that might seem. He had never seen such a vivid, complex picture before, and as the bird of death swooped upward at the last moment, Arthur found himself sighing with relief.

He drew his eyes away from the ever-changing scene to study the rest of the room. It was smaller than he originally thought, about the size of his dorm room in Gryffindor Tower. It was bordered by solid, metal tables covered with raised plastic. He reached out to a large, red circle in the middle of a surface. Just as his fingers caressed its center, a loud voice made him tense.

" _Don't touch that!_ "

The voice was angry, gruff.

Arthur's hand dropped to his side and he turned to face the voice's owner. His face was familiar, and as Arthur's gaze fell downward, to his rough, hairy knuckles, Arthur knew where he had seen him before.

"Y-you're the man from Diagon Alley."

 _Way to sound tough, Arthur._

"What are you doing in here?"

The man didn't move, just bore his eyes into Arthur as he awaited an explanation.

"You took that package. The one from the lady's bag."

 _Great Merlin, Arthur. Could you sound more pathetic?_

"Of course I did. It's mine. Now _what are you doing in here?_ "

The stranger took a few steps forward so that he towered over Arthur.

"I-I followed you. B-be-because you stole it." Arthur could hear the quiver in his own voice and swallowed hard before continuing. "I'm going to take it back to that woman."

The man raised a brow.

"Do you usually make it a habit of following strange men who have who have just committed a crime?"

Arthur was silent for a moment.

"Well, n-no, but I-I thought I could get it back."

"Well I already told you: It's mine." The man leaned in closer, so he was eye-to-eye with the boy. "Now leave."

He leaned back before turning abruptly to look at the picture frame. He touched the surface, causing the scene to change. He was now looking at a map, seeming to study it.

Arthur didn't move. He was too overwhelmed, too scared. His eyes raked around the room, taking in the lights and the complex photos and the raised spots on the tables. He had never seen anything like it before. He took a deep breath to fortify himself before speaking again.

"I'm not leaving."

The man turned to face him, slowly.

" _What?_ "

"I-I'm not leaving. Not until you give back the package."

The man walked closer once more before pulling his wand. He aimed it at Arthur's neck.

" _Get out._ "

There was a beat of silence.

"N-no."

The man pressed the tip of his wand into the skin of Arthur's throat. Arthur swallowed as quietly as possible. The man's eyes were narrowed, his nostrils flared—he was furious. Arthur was sure he had made a huge mistake.

But then the man did something unthinkable.

He _laughed._ A deep, boisterous laugh.

"You know what, kid?" He said, sheathing his wand. "You've got guts. I'll give you that." He shook his head before turning around and picking a package up off the center table. "You want to know what I took? Here." He threw the wrapping toward Arthur, who was too shocked to catch it. After a short delay, he picked it up off the ground and hesitated a moment before opening it.

Inside the wrapping was something he had never seen before. Arthur dropped the paper in confusion.

In his hands was a yellow piece of rubber.

"What is this?" Arthur couldn't help himself. He had never seen anything so ridiculous.

"A rubber duck." The man said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Arthur turned the duck over, squeezing it and studying its details.

"Why do you need it?"

The man smiled cockily.

"It's to help me fly my ship."

Arthur's brow furrowed.

"Your what?"

The man sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"It helps everything in this room function properly."

Arthur studied his surroundings once more. This man was insane.

"B-but what does it _do_?"

"That doesn't matter," the man said with wave of his hand. "The point is that it's mine and I need it. I ordered it from a shop in Muggle London and that woman picked it up by accident. She must be a muggleborn, because she went to shops on both sides of the Leaky Cauldron." The man shook his head. This was the most he had spoken so far and he seemed to be getting off track. "The point is that the duck is mine. I was just getting it back."

Arthur was quiet for a moment, absorbing what he had just heard. After a while, he said the only thing he could think of.

"Okay."

The man shook his head once more and ran a hand through his hair.

"Good. Can you leave now?"

"Erm, sure." Arthur stepped forward. Where he was heading, he was uncertain, but he stopped after a single step. "Can I ask one more question?"

The stranger scoffed. "Fine."

"What _is_ that?" Arthur pointed to the newly-evolved map.

The man chuckled.

"It's a tablet."

Arthur's brow creased. This adventure was going to leave him wrinkled, he was sure.

"A _what_?"

The man laughed again. This time, his smile was genuine.

"Give it another forty years, kid, and keep an eye on Muggle technology. You'll see."

Arthur's head was spinning, but he nodded anyway. "Okay."

He took another step forward before looking at the stranger.

"Erm, how do I get back to Diagon Alley?"

The man smirked before pointing to a corner of the room that was deprived of tables. Instead, the floor was decorated with a wide circle. An identical one was attached to the ceiling.

"Stand over there."

Arthur swallowed hard before making his way to the corner. Once he was in the center of the circle, he turned to face the man once more.

"Goodbye, Arthur Weasley," the stranger said. "Don't come again."

"How do you—?"

But it was too late. Light descended from the upper circle and encased Arthur with a loud _buzz_ ; Arthur's words were lost in the commotion. When the haze finally cleared, he was standing outside of Fortescue's Ice Cream Shop.

Arthur blinked. That had _not_ felt like apparating. It had been strangely pleasant, actually. He shook his head before turning to face the shop that he had left over half an hour ago. He caught sight of his mum standing in front of it, her face pinched with worry.

He sighed. _I'm so dead._

Arthur began walking toward the store, dragging his feet and reflecting on the past events. He had no idea what had just happened; he had no idea whom he had just met, but he was sure of two things: one, he wasn't to tell anyone what he had seen, and two, he would never be the same.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story! I hope you enjoyed it :) If you have a spare second, please leave a review or send me a PM with any comments or criticisms. I really appreciate any feedback that I get :)

 **A/N #2:** On a more official note, this story was written for Round Six of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. I'm the captain of the Caerphilly Catapults and my task was to write something in the Sci-fi genre :) The final count for this entry is 2,131 words.


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